You answer your phone to panicked breathing. The sound of your best friend's sorrow stabs you like a regretful shard of glass. Regretting you hadn't been there, regretting you couldn't reach out to stroke her thick, black hair, regretting you can't strike at (Let's call her Jamie) like a crazed cobra. Vibes of jealousy, sadness, and desperation shudder throughout your frame. They seem to come from the speaker... Or maybe through your "psycic connections" she teasingly claims to feel.
"I know, I know. It's the jeans that don't fit you. Not the other way around." Alexis whispers.
Funny!
ReplyDeleteI also carry a notebook with me wherever I go to write poetry. You never know when inspiration will strike!